Ghost Hunters, Pt. 36

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

He fished around in the cramped, over-filled quarters of the tiny garage. He was sure the homeowners must hire a gardening service to take care of the yard, but the equipment, apparently, was all their own. Or it was from a time when they did the yard work themselves. A riding mower took up the bulk of the floor space, but there were wheelbarrows, hoses strewn over the jumble of nursery madness, stacks of cedar mulch and fertilizer, seed spreaders, rakes, hedge trimmers, weed trimmers and things JD didn't recognize.

He scanned the dim area, and finally saw a stand of wooden handles rising from the piles of equipment and junk in the far corner. He tried to discern the best path from the door to the tools, but there was no clear way to get there. He'd have to do an interesting ballet of tip-toeing and high-stepping to reach them.

He began the trek, trying not to trip and knock anything over. He teetered uncertainly for a moment, then something skittered away under his foot as he tried to push through the mass of miscellany. He sat back hard onto something solid, regained his balance, and with tremendous effort, pushed something that didn't look as though it weighed as much as it did aside to finally reach the far side of the garage.

He caught his breath for a moment, then examined what was there. The heads of most of the tools were buried beneath the junk piled around them, but he could see some of them. There was a garden rake, a lawn rake with bent and rusted tines, something that looked like a medieval torture device with pointed spikes spiraling down, and a manual lawn edger. He rattled the old brittle handles to move them around, looking for a shovel.

There wasn't one.

He shook his head in disappointment, then scanned the walls. Hanging on them were plastic accordion tubes of some type, copper pipes bound with twine, some things he couldn't identify ...

... and a shovel, hanging from a nail by a hole through the bulb of the handle.

He again did his dance of balance and progress, trying not to fall in the abyss of the debris scattered over the floor. He gingerly took the shovel down, then took a moment to eye his path back to the exit. Picking and prancing he found himself outside a moment later with the rain drumming on him steadily.

He trotted around the back of the house, and came up to the parlor window. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head for the first time. He stared down, trying to identify where the ghost had buried the small section of PVC pipe so many years before. He wasn't sure exactly where it was, but he had a general idea.

He made a decision and planted the shovel's point into the soft ground. He put his foot atop the head and pressed down, sinking it deeply into the soil, to the ferrule. He gripped the handle tightly, and pulled back hard.

A lump of soft, dark earth upturned, and water began to collect in the hole while JD turned the shovel over to empty it.

He looked down, but there was no white plastic revealed. He studied the position of his hole for a moment, then planted the shovel again, a bit farther from the window. Sinking it deeply, he turned another big divot. Still nothing. He considered again. He drove the shovel again, and once more churned the earth out of the way. More nothing but dirt and the translucent roots of grass and weeds, cut clean by the shovel's blade.

Once more he thought. He stepped back, looking at his position to the window carefully. He came forward again, picking a spot between the two of them, and again planted the shovel head. The divot came up as JD worked faster, watching the darkening sky behind the steady tattoo of the rain.

Still nothing.

He looked at the ground again. There were three holes now, spaced apart relatively evenly. He couldn't tell whether his lateral position was accurate though. Shrugging, he plunged the shovel down again and upturned another large divot. Nothing in the hole. He pondered if the holes were deep enough, but Jenkins had used a smaller utensil and his hole wasn't as deep. He should have been turning up big enough chunks of ground even taking into consideration the settling of the ground. It couldn't have sunk that much.

He tried again, and again found nothing. A fifth time, with the same result. Confused, concerned and sopping wet now, he began to break up the divots, searching for the telltale white indicator. He found nothing. Again and again he turned up chunks of ground, breaking them with the shovel head, trying to locate the short pipe. He had developed a large hole, and still didn't find it.

He slammed the shovel into the ground in frustration, and heard a hollow thunk.

He froze. Trying to decide what to do, he carefully, deliberately turned the divot. His heart pounding in his chest he stepped forward, slowly. Peering into the hole, he found a silver gleam staring back at him.

Knitting his brows, he bent down and brushed aside the mud with his fingertips. The iron pipe from the basement sump vanished under the holes he'd dug into the wall of the basement.

He muttered a curse under his breath and stood up. He jogged back to the front porch, leaning the shovel up against the side of the porch before darting up the stairs. He stomped the mud from his feet before pulling his shoes off carefully. Dropping them down softly he opened the front door and tried to shake the excess water from his body.

"That you, JD?" Wendy called. She was still upstairs.

"Yes, Wen, it's me."

"I saw some of what you were doing outside. It didn't look like it was going well."

"No. Not at all well, I'm afraid."

"Dude," Dillon said stepping out from the parlor and coming around the stairs. "You didn't find the pipe-note-thingy?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. I just don't remember exactly where it is, how deep it is ... or if it's even still there."

"Well, it's too dark to go out there now. I put Dillon's and my shirt and jacket in the dryer for a few minutes and we're good to go. Want me to do yours too?"

"You put ... all of your clothes ... "

"Not at the same time, goof," she said, glowering at him. "You're the only naked guy I want to see, thanks."

"Gee, thanks, Wen," Dillon said sardonically. "Always nice to know I'm wanted."

"You are, punkin," she cooed, and kissed his cheek. "But I don't want to see you naked, thanks. And dream on if you think you're gonna get to see me naked."

"Aww."

"Um ... sure. I could use a good shower too. I hope this doesn't get too expensive."

"What happened out there?"

"I ... I couldn't find it. I dug up a good portion of the yard in that area, but I couldn't find it. I'll have to come back and look again tomorrow. The ground is soft and it's not hard to dig, but I have to find the location ... and the depth."

"It wasn't all that deep," Wendy said softly. "... at least, I didn't think so."

"No, I didn't think so either, but ..."

"How we gonna find it, man?"

"I don't know. Just ... keep digging, I guess."

"Okay, so ... now what?"

"Well ... we have a few hours to kill. Then the show begins again. Hopefully."

"Hopefully for you, dude. I'm hopin' not."

"I know. But it's the last bit. Until we find the note, or whatever may be in that pipe."

"I'm sure it's the note, hon."

"It could be anything, though. We don't even know if it's really important yet."

"I don't think we'd have seen that portion of the ... whatever ... if it weren't important. Do you?"

He sighed. "No. Not really."

"So how we gonna pass time, dude? Cards? We could play strip poker."

"No thanks," JD said. "I thought we could look over our data. See what we actually have. Make a decision about what to do with the tapes from there."

"Whattaya mean, dude?"

"Well, if they're not going to reveal anything ... no sense in keeping them. I'll use them for other cases, I guess."

Wendy nodded. "I guess if there's no posterity to preserve, preserving them for posterity is pointless."

"Exactly."

"What about that -- you know -- that sound on the recorder, dude?"

"Oh. Well, that's ... interesting. We'll see if we can get it downloaded on the computer and analyze them. If not, I can contact a local university and see if they can analyze it for me. If it's not too expensive."

"Those AV guys ... an' nobody thought they'd be doin' anything after high school, huh?"

JD chuckled. "In the meantime, let me get myself cleaned up and dried off. I'll be able to think more clearly then."

"Go 'head, love," Wendy kissed him on the cheek, "I'll get your clothes rinsed and dried while you're showering."

"I'll play with the water so you get hot, then cold, then hot, then cold ... like that. Okay?"

"Thanks, Dillon ... nothing like being productive. Maybe I'll take a bath instead."

"All right, then, I'll get the recorder thingy outta the car and listen to that scary-ass, wethca-pants sound and see if I can get it on the monitor PC."

"Better. Thanks."

"Go on, babe. Leave your clothes on the floor. Bathroom's up the stairs and third door on the right."

He kissed her softly. "I can do the clothes myself, Wen. You're not a maid."

"But ya oughtta see 'er in a French Maid suit, dude."

"You never have."

"But you oughtta."

"Yes you should," Wendy giggled, shaking her hips at him teasingly. "Now scoot."

JD took a luxurious bath, letting the hot water melt over him, soaking into his bones like the warmth of a good brandy on a cold winter's night. He pulled the circular curtain closed around the tub, and could feel his muscles relaxing, sleep threatening him. Wendy came in at some point, though he didn't hear her, and took his clothes. He could hear the rinse cycle of the washer and eventually the dryer running somewhere. He soaked for much longer than he should have, but when he was finished, he had a freshly laundered towel and warm, dry clothes to put on.

He was down the stairs nearly an hour later, yawning lazily as he plodded his way down the stairs. When he entered the parlor, it was dark. The two shadows of Dillon and Wendy were leaning together so closely, they were nearly touching. They weren't speaking. At all.

"Hey," he said softly, and both of them jumped, shouting with the start.

"Dude! Don't do that, dammit!"

"Do what?" JD said, confused.

"Oh, God, babe," Wendy stammered, nervously. "You ... you have to hear this ..."

"Dude. Word."

"What? Hear what?"

"Shaddap and listen, dude."

Dillon pressed the button and that unearthly, bone-chilling wail filled the room, echoing from the plaster walls. JD shuddered violently as the sound twisted its way down his spine like an electric pulse. When it finished, dying off and seeming to echo in the cavities of his mind, Dillon shook his head violently.

"We've ... we've heard it before. It's disturbing, but not new. What's wrong?"

"Jus' listen, dude."

Dillon clicked the mouse a couple of times and reset the recording, then adjusted the GUI controls on the recording program on the PC. "Ready, dude?"

JD shrugged. Dillon clicked the mouse again. The recording played at a much higher speed. JD felt his heart stop and his jaw drop.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, dude. Exactly."

"JD, what does that mean? Does it mean what ... does it mean anything?"

JD slowly shook his head. "I ... I don't know."

"Dilly, play it again. NOT the slow one, please."

He nodded, then clicked the mouse again.

A single phrase came through the speakers, and JD leaned close to the two of them. "Dillon ... did you ... did you alter this somehow?"

"I just sped it up, dude. This program did it. I just changed the speed. Me 'n Wen were freakin' out 'cause that sound ... that horrible sound was just too much, y'know? So we figgered if we played it faster, we wouldn't hafta hear it as long. An' this is what happened."

"My God ... this is ... this is incredible."

Dillon nodded. "I couldn't believe it either, man. Pretty frickin' creepy."

JD nodded. "Yeah. Once more, please."

Dillon sighed, and clicked the play button again. The single phrase came through again, high-pitched from the acceleration, sounding like Alvin and the chipmunks, but the words were crystal clear.

"The garage," the voice said.

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Ready to go on to Part 37?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 35

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

JD went down the length of the wall and saw that the basement extended beyond the large concrete monolith standing where he was certain the staircase used to be. He walked around the rim of the huge block, trying to find pull chains to turn more lights on, but more critically, he was looking for a shovel or spade. He had to dig up the section of PVC pipe, hidden from view for so long, from the plant bed just beyond the parlor windows.

He found some typical basement items -- boxes covered with dust and grime, miscellaneous items that over the decades found their way to shelves and cubby holes, a plastic closet stuffed with clothes that stood on weak casters. He didn't find what he wanted.

He wondered, as he passed it on his way toward the furnace aging in the corner under the stairs he'd come down, if that concrete shell hid any other secrets. He wondered how many the house might know, holding close to its ancient heart.

He could see the pilot light flickering blue and soft beneath the furnace before he got too close. Not far to the left the water heater's pilot glowed as well. He turned the water temperature up to something tolerable and the device roared to life. He went up the stairs to try and locate the thermostat. The dampness in his clothes was cooling his skin rapidly and he felt a shiver gently rattle his frame. He couldn't get dry and warm just yet, though. He still had work to do outside, and could hear the rain coming down steadily.

He trotted up the stairs and heard Wendy still moving around upstairs. There was no sign of Dillon, but that was a good thing.

"Wen?" he called up the stairs. "I ... I think we have what we need now. Before I do anything else, the pilot lights are on for both the furnace and water heater, and we should have some hot water in about an hour or so. I'm ... I think I'm going to dig up that pipe."

She popped quickly into view at the top of the stairs. "What?"

"I said I think we have what we need. To dig the pipe up without ... you know, without it looking like we dug it up because we knew it was there."

"What? What do we have?"

"Yeah, dude, what d'we got?"

JD started sharply as Dillon approached him from behind. "Dammit, don't do that!"

"HA! Don't like it, huh? Now y'know how I always feel."

"JD, what do we have?"

"I ... I found a sump pump in the basement that seems to have some sort of blockage in the pipe leading out into the yard. Some water has come back into the basement. It's been happening for a long time, from what I can see. It's not bad at all, but we can use that as an excuse to ... you know."

"Dig up homey's note inna pipe?"

"Yeah."

"Wow." Wendy stood still, staring into the middle distance between her and JD. "Wow, that's ... that's big."

"Well ... if the pipe's even still there."

"Dude, where does a pipe hafta go?"

"It could've been dug up anytime between now and when he buried it. For all we know, the police found it. I don't see how they couldn't have found it, frankly. With the disturbance of the earth, the location of the body ... how could they not find it?"

"Nobody was lookin', dunce-cap," Dillon spat. "How many times y'gotta hear that, dumb-ass?"

"As soon as I hear it from someone with a brain, I'll take it."

"Settle down, guys," Wendy said, wagging her head. "How're you going to dig it up? C'mon, Dilly, we need to find some ..."

"No, Wen," JD said. "I don't need help. I've got the keys to the house. I'm sure one of them opens the little garage outside. If there are tools there, I'll use them. If not, I'll have to go buy a shovel. But this is all I really need right now for an excuse to get under the soil there."

"Won't get an argument from me, dude," Dillon said, heading back the way he came. "Didja turn on the heater, man?"

"The furnace is on, but I don't know where the thermostat is. Why don't you look for it while I go outside and see if there's a shovel around here somewhere?"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, Dillon, you. Who else?"

"Wull ... I mean ... what 'bout the ... dude, the place is haunted, man! I don' wanna be roamin' around in here alone!"

"You won't be alone, you sissy," JD spat, "Wendy will be here to protect you from the big, mean specters, okay? JEEZ."

"Dude! You'd put your GF in front o' some ghosts? You are so a lousy BF!"

"I can't be in two places at once. Wen, if you get a chance and have the inclination, turn the heat up for a while until you're comfortable. I don't think I'll be too long."

She nodded. "You don't want me to come with you?"

He smiled. "You can see what I'm doing through the parlor window. I won't be too long, and I want you to get warm and dry."

She nodded, numbly. "Okay, lover. I'll be waiting. Be ... be careful, okay?"

He looked at her confused. "Are you ... are you okay, Wen?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just be careful, okay? Come back to me. We don't know what's in that pipe. That's all."

"It's not a bomb, Wendy. I'll be fine."

"I know. I know ... still. Okay?"

He nodded. "I promise. I may not even find what I need out there. In that case, it's going to have to wait until morning. I'm just too wet and too cold and too tired to work outside in the dark."

She nodded, her face still solemn. "I hope ... just ... hurry back. Okay?"

He nodded again. Marshalling what he had left of his will, he went out the front door with Wendy watching him go the whole way.

A moment later Dillon appeared at the door of the parlor, looking up at her. "You know I ain't gonna letcha do all the work, don'tcha Wen?"

She softened a bit, smiling at him. "I know, Dilly."

"I'm ... gonna go find the thermostat."

"Okay," she said weakly.

"Wen?"

"Yeah, Dilly?"

"He's gonna be okay, y'know. He's just outside."

"I know."

"What's ... what's buggin' ya, then?"

"I don't know. I guess it's the way they ... you know. The way they seem to be ... after him. It makes me nervous. I don't want him to be by himself."

"They can't hurt 'im, hon," Dillon said gently, draping himself over the banister of the staircase and watching her eyes. "He tried t'grab one and went right through. You saw."

"I ... I know. I know it's silly, I just ..."

"OH, you guys got it bad, huh?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, puh-LEEZ, sweetheart," he laughed. "You got it even worse now that he L-worded you back, don'tcha? Now that he said it back, y'can't get over it at all. Wanna be right there wherever he's at all the time, right?"

She dropped her hands on her hips and leveled her eyes at him. "Well, maybe. But is that so wrong?"

Dillon put his hands up defensively. "I'm jus' sayin' is all. He's the same way, y'know. Soon as he said it back, he can't get himself away from ya. You guys just ... just got it bad is all. I'm jus' sayin'."

She drew a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. "I love him. I always have, I guess."

"Uh-huh. And now thatcha know he loves ya back -- 'cause he said it -- you went in even deeper, didn'tcha?"

She nodded slowly.

"It's okay, but ... that usually means best friend's gotta go."

"Don't you dare. I've never given you reason to think I was coming between you. Don't you dare treat me like a shrew now, Dillon. I will so kick your ass for that. I've never come between the two of you, ever."

"No, no ... not you. Him. He's gonna ... be busy now, with you mostly. An' that's cool. I bet he pops the question before too long. I give it three months. Maybe even by Christmas."

"Oh, stop it."

"I'm all sortsa serious, Wen. He's in deep. What's he gonna do without you?"

"Go find the thermostat, goofy."

He smiled and disappeared under the stairs as she went back to gathering towels to dry themselves off with. She also was trying to figure out what to do with their wet clothes. She could hear Dillon shuffling about downstairs, and she quietly padded to a window at the end of the hall. A little, square window looked out over the yard and she saw JD just inside the door of the little single-car garage, converted to a shed sometime in the murky past, looking for the tool he needed to unearth what she was sure would be the last piece of this very old puzzle.

At least, she hoped it was the last piece. The librarian had shown that nothing was certain. Not even in JD's intellectual and rational universe.

She wondered how he was feeling, with his entire existence upended on him. She wondered at his confusion and whether he was in pain from it all. Everything he'd set out to prove had flown in his face. She silently kissed her fingertips and blew it toward him.

"It's okay, lover," she whispered. "I know you're special. And you'll be even more special when this is all over. You'll understand how big the world is, and how small we are in it."

"Wen? I think ... I think I found it. But ... I need help to make sure. Can you come down for a sec?"

"Sure, Dilly, be right there," she called, trying to lift her voice. She was worried about JD though, and wondered if she'd ever be able to be apart from him again.

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Ready to go on to Part 36?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 34

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

"Dang, man," Dillon muttered into JD's back, "why's it gotta be so frickin' intense?"

JD sighed, opening his eyes. The yard was clear. There was nothing there. No body. No blood. Nothing.

"It's over," he said solemnly.

Wendy pulled her face slowly from his jacket sleeve, glancing cautiously at the yard. "My God ... I never imagined anything so ... so awful."

"Ghosts are all morbid an' crap."

"Yes." JD tried to move forward, but Dillon's weight pulled on him.

"Uh ... it's over now, Dillon. You can let go."

"Dude ... I so need a hug, man."

"Get one from Wendy and let go of me."

"I so can't, dude. I need a man-hug."

"Will you get off, please?" Reluctantly, Dillon lifted his hands from JD's shoulders. He strode to the spot where the wailing apparition had stood, between the windows and the bare, claw-like limbs of the shrubs.

"Somewhere under here," he spoke softly to himself, "is the pipe he buried."

"The suicide note everyone said he didn't leave," Wendy intoned, moving to stand beside JD again.

"Do we dig it up or somethin'?"

JD sighed again, raising his eyebrows quizzically. "I suppose we should. I don't ... I still don't know how we're going to explain to the police how we found it, though."

"Maybe that doesn't matter, baby," Wendy said, stroking his arm with her hand and laying her head on his shoulder. "Maybe that we find it is enough. Or maybe just knowing it's there will satisfy Jenkins' ghost."

JD snorted a brief laugh and shook his head. "Maybe. 'Jenkins' ghost.' I can't believe I'm not arguing this. Two days ago, I would have argued this. Vehemently. Now ... now, I don't have any grounds TO argue."

"Is that a bad thing, lover? Is it so wrong to believe in something you didn't know was there before?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't ... I don't know. It doesn't matter. It is what it is."

"Dude, if we don't dig it up, how we gonna know if it's the note or somethin' else?"

"What else would it be?"

"I dunno ... bomb?"

"A bomb?"

"Why not?"

"Why would he want to blow someone up?"

"'Cause he hates life?"

"But he's dead."

"'Cause he's a creepy-ass ghost?"

"Stop it. It's not a bomb. He already showed he wasn't involved in Brown's murder. The other two were. If he was angry and murderous, why wouldn't he exact revenge on them?"

"Dude, don't you get it yet?"

"Get what?"

"JD, the reason he didn't avenge his partner's death wasn't because he didn't want to. He couldn't."

JD looked down at Wendy. "Because of his sister?"

She nodded. "If he tried to expose the people involved, tried to come forward in any way -- they'd probably have killed her. And any children she had."

JD nodded. "I guess. It seems unlikely that Migo would want to hurt his own wife and children."

"I'm sure he wouldn't. That doesn't mean others involved wouldn't, though. They had them both over a barrel. We have no idea how many people were involved in this thing."

JD drew a deep breath again. "You're right. It's plausible."

"Dude, it's what happened. They told 'im if he didn't say Robbie-boy done it, they'd whack his sister, her kids, any anybody else they wanted to. He hadda play the game for them, man."

"Well ... that ... that sucks."

Wendy laughed uproariously for a moment. "At a loss for words, huh?"

"He just said it sucked. Those're words. Home-boy ALWAYS has somethin' t'say."

"Not always."

"Dude, always."

"That's not true."

"See?"

"Anyway," Wendy interjected, "we need to dig this thing up."

"Well, I don't happen to have a shovel with me right now."

"Dude, let's use the one the ghost used."

"We can't, Dillon."

"Why not?"

"Because it happened years and years ago, dork. It's not there now."

"Really? How many years ago?"

"I don't recall. I don't know if Bea said. And I haven't looked that up yet. I guess I should. I should look up Migo and Stanton too. Maybe if they're still alive they can ... I don't know. Be brought to justice."

"For a 35 year-old murder," Wendy said softly. "How strange that would be."

"Not as strange as the conversation telling the police about this note, and how we found it."

"Can't we say were we doing something in the yard for the homeowners?"

"In late October? Involving digging?"

"I'm just saying, maybe we can find a viable excuse."

"Dude, you ain't come up with an idea yet. Why not?"

"Uh ... okay. Maybe we could ... I don't know. Like what?"

"We can say there was a very soft spot here and we wanted to make sure there wasn't a broken pipe or something under the window. Would that work?"

JD shrugged. He was sick of feeling helpless. He knew he'd end up looking stupid and feeling that way too if he couldn't find a legitimate reason to dig for the tiny section of pipe he'd seen buried.

He wasn't even sure it was there. It had been years since Jenkins' death. It could have been dug up long ago.

"Let's ... give it some thought, I guess. We have some time to do other things. Maybe ... maybe we'll think of something realistic enough to be passable."

He watched that spot on the ground through the rain. The water ran off the eaves of the house three floors above them and dripped into pools at the base of the window.

"I wonder why the police never noticed the disturbed ground? Shouldn't that have been obvious, even in casual observation?"

"The rain, dude."

"What about it?"

"It made the mud all soft an' stuff, dumb-ass. They couldn't tell nothin' was diff'rent."

JD thought about that. "What are you, an idiot savant?"

"If that's rude, then I know you are but what am I?"

"What if it's not rude?"

"Well ... you said 'idiot' so I'm pretty sure it's rude, cling-turd."

"Uh-huh. What's a cling-turd? No. Never mind."

"Duh."

"Let's get out the rain," Wendy said sternly. "I'm soaked and getting cold."

They moved quickly to the porch, out of the steady rain, and JD unlocked the door. They went inside and moved to the parlor. The house was cool but not cold, but they shivered in their sopping clothes. Wendy took off her jacket and rubbed her hands together in front of her.

"I think you're going to have to turn on the heater in here, lover. It's chilly! And maybe we can find some towels?"

JD looked nervous. "Uh ... I don't know ... I don't know if I should be going through the homeowners' things."

"Dude, we can wash 'em or whatnot, but we're soaked!"

"Are they coming back before we can wash and dry them, JD?"

"No ... they aren't coming back until spring, but ..."

"SPRING?? Dude, get the damn towels!"

"Oh, hon, come ON."

"All right, all right ... I guess I can offer to pay the utility bill for this month. But based on the size of the house, I'll need help."

"Fine," Wendy giggled and started up the stairs to find a linen closet.

"Get the frickin' heater, dude."

"I'd better check the pilot on the furnace first. Actually, I'd better make sure the furnace can even be used first. We don't want a fire."

"Whatever, just hurry up!"

"Okay, okay, relax."

JD moved past the stairs and into the kitchen. He checked the doors for what he was certain would be an access to the basement. He also watched for the thermostat. He found the basement entry near the back of the walk-in pantry, next to what he imagined must have been the servant's stairwell. The basement was dark, but light was cast from the windows seated at ground-level, letting in parts of the leaden overcast day from outside.

The basement was surprisingly uncluttered, clean and rather empty. Some canned foods and homemade preserves lined a sturdy old wooden shelf crafted from dimension lumber, and a few paint cans rested atop a locked metal cabinet in one corner. A few scattered boxes were on other wooden shelves, but the bulk of the space was open.

The floor was concrete, stained with age and water, the ceiling composed of the joists supporting the floor above. The basement was not quite full-height, but probably seven feet. JD noticed that the ancient foundation, patched and quilted materials from the variations of days gone by, stuck out into the basement below the window at several points. He pulled on a chain to turn on the stairwell light as he went, and the space was dimly, weakly illuminated by the bare-bulb fixtures mounted to the shiny silver conduit racing under the joists.

He descended the stairs, and heard a distinct sound.

Water gurgling.

He walked forward, finding another chain, and pulled on it, sending another yellow-white patch of light onto the cobbled floor. He turned to look behind him, and saw that one -- only one -- of the windows looking through the foundation of the house had paint broken away between the wide, short sash and frame. The others were all painted shut.

The sound he'd heard, the creaking of that ancient hinge ... it had come from that single window opening. Jenkins had used it to come out of the basement unseen when he witnessed Brown's murder. JD wandered over to the window, and noticed that the half-shelf of the reinforced foundation formed a kind of step. He got onto the step on his knees, and twisted the window catch to open it. It resisted violently, but finally squealed loose. He pulled the window open toward him.

The fresh, cool air washed over him like a wave from the ocean, the banter of the constant rain prattling at him. As the window drew back, the hinges creaked in protest.

Just as he'd heard last night.

He closed the window again, and looked behind him. There, beside the window opposite him, was an old iron pipe that rose from what he thought might be a sump pump and went out through the exterior wall beneath the line of the earth outside.

"Perfect," he whispered.

The water he heard was gurgling through the pipe, but some spilled gently back into the basement, falling in a tiny puddle near the middle of a much larger water stain on the floor. A large, plastic bucket caught it and gathered it up. Another, empty bucket stood at the ready a few feet away.

He looked around the spartan basement for any gardening tools, but remembered the detached single-car garage in the yard on the other side of the house. He guessed that, from his position at the leaky little pipe, he was somewhere under the parlor.

But the basement didn't cover the entirety of the first floor. It was far too small for the sprawling house.

He walked forward a bit more, tugging on another chain to light another bulb near the back wall.

A solid wall of newer concrete greeted him.

"They remodeled and filled something in." Chiding himself inwardly for talking aloud to the walls, he headed for the stairs.

He had the excuse he needed to dig up the yard. Now he needed the tools to do it.

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Ready to go on to Part 35?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 33

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

They ate in near silence. What little conversation they did have was about things other than the case. It had grown out of control, and all three of them knew it. They did what they could to keep their minds off of it for one meal. But as the waitress cleared their plates away, and JD and Wendy sat sipping coffee while Dillon gulped soda, they knew they would have to face it again.

They stared at their bill, laid on the Formica table top pitted with scars and scrapes from decades of abuse, as if it were a viper.

JD finally collected the money and the courage to go pay the tab. He slumped back into the worn vinyl seat that gasped for breath as he sat. He sighed, and looked at them. Dillon seemed contented enough, having been fed. Wendy tilted her head to one side, and gave him a mirthless smile.

"Can't avoid it anymore, love."

"No. No, I suppose not."

As they got up from the table and moved to the door, Dillon looked outside.

"It's rainin'," he said absently.

They got into the car quickly, and as they drove toward the old Victorian with such a long history and so many unspoken secrets, carried so long in its annals, JD took his time. He didn't realize how uneager he was to see the old house and to hear its stories again. He had a growing sense of dread as they approached the mansion, not because of what he'd seen, but because he began to feel something he didn't expect to have to feel.

Responsibility.

He felt that it was being placed squarely upon him to act on the information he now had. He wondered if, in some way, he was being asked by those accused but innocent to right a wrong nearly four decades old. He wondered if he were the first to see these events in their entirety. He wondered what he was supposed to do without being able to convey the information evidentially.

He pondered all of these things as he pulled up the winding old street toward the house that seemed so innocuous, so ordinary among the others in the neighborhood. The tall trees, silent witnesses to what transpired, seemed to be more jagged and harsh, stabbing at him with limbs like pointing fingers, singling him out as the one charged with the house's sinister enigmas.

He parked in front of the Victorian as he had for the last two days, and watched the water roll from the windshield in sheets. The constant, steady tattoo of the rainfall on the car's roof drummed a background of noise to his thoughts. He shut the car off and sat in the silence, for a moment forgetting his companions.

"Dude," Dillon's voice rattled in the quiet, "who's that?"

JD and Wendy turned to look out the passenger window simultaneously, both of them suddenly keenly awake and aware.

There was a man standing in the yard, alongside the house.

Near the parlor windows.

"I ... I don't know."

"JD, what's he doing?"

"I don't know, Wen. I really don't have a clue."

"Dude's got a pipe or somethin'."

"How can he smoke in the rain?"

"Naw, man ... like that white plastic pipe stuff y'get t'fix your toilet an' stuff. Y'know, like under the sink."

"PVC? He has a PVC pipe?" JD leaned forward trying to see more clearly through the rivulets of water that trickled down the sides of the car. The rain wasn't driving, but it was relatively heavy, and steady, and he couldn't see clearly through the windows and over the tops of the dense hedges surrounding the yard.

"He's goin' t'get somethin' off the porch, too, but I can't see what."

"JD, what should we do? Call the police? He's not the homeowner, is he?"

"No," JD answered without hesitation. "No, not the homeowner. I have no idea who the hell that is."

"Should we ... go see?"

"Dude, why we always gotta do the opposite of what they tell ya t'do in those 'Be Safe'-type BS workshops an' stuff?"

"I'll check it out. Stay here. And Wendy, I mean stay here this time, okay?"

She looked at him.

"Seriously, Wen," he reiterated. "You can see if anything happens, but until then, just stay in the car, all right?"

She sighed. "Okay. This time."

"Dude, I so ain't goin' witcha."

"I wasn't counting on it. I want you to stay here with Wendy anyway."

"Oh. Whew! I thought you was gonna make me go with you."

JD ignored him and got out of the car. The rain pelted him immediately, pounding against his head and shoulders. He hunched slightly, reflexively, and trotted toward the gate. Pushing it open, he started around the house to his right, toward the windows of the parlor. He saw the figure standing there, with what looked like a section of PVC pipe sticking out from the pocket of his overcoat.

Propped in one hand was a handle, but his body obscured the rest of the object.

JD slowed his approach. "Hello? Can I help you?"

The stranger did not answer. He didn't acknowledge JD at all.

"Hello?" JD repeated, moving slowly now. He finally stopped.

The man wiped his sleeve across his heavily-shadowed face, hidden beneath a broad-rimmed hat and his upturned collar. Finally, he swung the handle in front of him, and JD saw it was a small garden spade.

He froze. "Excuse me -- who are you?"

The man continued to ignore him. JD was less than 15 feet away now. He stood still, but tensed to run if the strange man did anything sudden.

He stabbed the spade head into the soft, moist ground and pushed it in to the ferrule with his booted foot. He bent slightly and tore a large, deep divot from the bed of plants just below the windows of the parlor. He held up that hunk of mulch and top soil with the spade in one hand. With the other he worked the PVC pipe out of his pocket, and then seemed to hesitate. His body convulsed for a moment, and again he wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat, still holding the section of pipe in his hand. After a moment, he tossed the pipe into the divot.

He pulled the spade out from beneath the pile of earth and it fell back mostly into place. He began to tamp the bulge down with his foot, the soft, squishy mud oozing around the deep treads of his shoe. He skirted some of the loose, wet mulch from the surrounding ground over the area, and when he finished he seemed to inspect his work. He took the shovel, and started back toward JD.

JD panicked, a rush of adrenaline burning through his veins, and he stepped back. The darkly shadowed man walked with a purpose toward the front of the house and JD stepped quickly to one side, reaching out to catch the stranger's arm as he passed.

He gasped loudly when his hand passed right through the arm of the passing man.

He stared at his own hand for a moment, as the man walked back through the gate and around the corner. JD chased him for a moment, and caught sight of Wendy and Dillon racing out of the car after him. The stranger stopped at a car parked across the street and nearly half a block farther up, opened the trunk of the vehicle, and took something out. He dropped it into his pocket, slammed the trunk closed and walked back toward the gate. Wendy and Dillon stopped, but JD stood directly in the man's path as he headed back for the old Victorian.

He passed directly through JD unfettered.

Wendy yelped, covering her mouth with her hands. Dillon backed up a step. JD followed as the figure went through the gate, and propped the spade against part of the porch. JD turned to Dillon.

"Is that where he got it?"

Dillon dumbly nodded, in slow motion.

"I thought so. Come on!"

He trotted to follow the strange man back around the house.

"JD ... what's going on?" Wendy said quietly. "Is this ... is he ...?"

"Yes," JD said, and moved into a position just a couple of yards away from where the figure stood, staring down at his muddy footprint in the soft dirt just beneath the window of the parlor.

"That's the footprint we saw the first night," JD stated, more to himself than to the others.

"JD, what's happening??" Wendy was terrified, and she moved to cling to his arm as he stood watching. Dillon pressed himself against JD's back, watching from over his shoulder.

"We're about to see Darren Jenkins commit suicide."

"Oh crap, dude ..." Dillon muttered, and pressed his forehead into JD's shoulders. "... I so can't watch this, man."

"Oh my God, JD ... we've got to do something ..."

"We can't. This is different than the other playbacks, Wendy. It always has been. Jenkins is the silhouetted figure in the house we saw. He's always in shadow, and never interacts with us. I don't know why. He completely ignored me before when I spoke to him."

The shadowy figure stood for a moment, then tipped its head back.

That blood-curdling, bone-chilling wail swelled from somewhere indistinguishable, echoing and vibrating them. Wendy let go of JD to cover her ears. Dillon did the same. JD wanted to hear it. The terror it evoked in them was visceral, animalistic. He fought his panic, gritting his teeth, but he was whimpering and nearly collapsed when it finally died away, ringing off in the rainfall's constant thudding.

He shuddered violently, goose-flesh raised all over his body.

The man fished into his pocket, and pulled out an automatic pistol.

Wendy smashed her face against JD's arm. Dillon's hands fell back onto his shoulders.

The figure raised the gun under his chin, tilting his head back slightly.

JD shut his eyes.

The bang! made them all jump sharply.

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Ready to go on to Part 34?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 32

(Just joining us? You may want to start at the beginning.)

The three of them stood in stunned silence for a moment. They were shocked and it showed on their faces clearly.

"Is -- is there anything else I can do for you?"

JD shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog.

"No ... no, thank you very much."

The librarian made a strange face and turned to go back to assisting the younger woman with the growing line of people at the check-out station.

They glanced at each other and turned in unison to go out the door. The cool autumnal breeze helped snap them out of their daze.

"JD ... didn't we talk t'that lady yesterday? I mean, we didn't slip into somethin' funky like in th' yard last night, right? I think it was last night ..."

"Yes," JD said, his voice hardly a whisper. "We did. I was certain it was yesterday." He knit his brows. "Yes, it was absolutely yesterday," he asserted, more sure of himself. "Yesterday we lost ... track of time out in the house's yard, but the day was the day. It WAS yesterday. I'm sure of it."

"It's ... it's Saturday, right?" Wendy was ashen. "You told me on Friday you met with a librarian that gave you all the information you couldn't find on the murder of Robin Brown and some information about his partner."

"That's right. It is Saturday."

JD scanned for a newspaper stand, but didn't see one nearby. He wanted to confirm the day and date, and didn't want to feel foolish by asking someone. He sighed and set his jaw.

"Well. This is certainly ... an unexpected wrinkle."

Wendy laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Dude, you didn't even believe in ghosts, now you're surrounded with 'em. HA! That's funny."

"Why's it funny?"

"'Cause, dude, they can so tell you don't believe in 'em. They're like cats. Cats also wanna snug-up t'people that don' like 'em. Ghosts must be like that too. They wanna be up in your face an' stuff, 'cause you don't think they're real. Or somethin'."

"Hmm. That's genuine comedy, all right."

"Okay, so we can't talk to your librarian friend today, but we can still do the research, right?"

"Uh ... well, I guess so. We can look up Migo and Stanton, see what we find on them, I guess."

"Dude, y'think they're dead too?"

"I ... I don't know. Why?"

"I dunno. The other dudes in the movie are."

"That's true, baby. Maybe EVERYONE involved is dead."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not even sure why I'm doing this anymore. I'm not sure what I'm going to tell the homeowners, I've NO idea what I'm supposed to do about knowing the location of Robin Brown's body, and I have no idea exactly what's going on with this ... mystery. It's a 35-year-old crime."

"Murder doesn't have a statue of limitations, lover."

"I know, but ... what am I supposed to do? I can't go to the police with this information. They'll want to know how I got it, and I have no idea what to tell them that doesn't make me sound insane."

"The conversation we heard implied there were a lot of cops involved in this. I wonder why only Migo and Stanton are the ones we've seen?"

"We probably should have this conversation somewhere else."

"Dude, don'tcha want the townsfolk knowin' you solved their only murder case? You'll be, like, a hero or somethin'."

"Please. I'll be committed."

"Let's ... I don't know. Should we go on to the house and have a look around? Would you rather do that than do the research?" Wendy shrugged helplessly.

JD nodded slowly. "Had I known this earlier I would have just done the research online at home. I can't believe ..." He trailed off and his brows knit again.

"Baby, I know you're confused by all this," Wendy said, cupping his chin with her hand. "But sometimes, when we look for something, we find it. You were trying to find things paranormal, and now you have. I know it's hard to accept, JD, but this is really a supernatural event. You've seen not one, not two, but FIVE ghosts now. And you have no explanation for them. You're going to have to stop hurting yourself trying to dispel the myth of the supernatural and just embrace what's right in front of you."

"Yeah, dude, you ... you gotta ... I dunno. What she said, I guess."

"This is so impossible," JD muttered, rubbing the heel of his hand against his temple. "I just ... this is just so impossible."

"It so ain't, bud."

"I know it's hard for you, JD," Wendy soothed, taking his hand in both of hers and kissing it lightly. "But ... just go on with this as it is and it'll get easier for you to know what to do."

"Easier?" he repeated in disbelief. "Easier, Wen? I don't think so. This is ... this is like believing in Santa Claus. You're asking me to just accept Santa Claus here. I don't ... I don't know if I CAN. It's just ..."

She kissed his hand again. "I know. I know this is tough. But you did want to find something beyond yourself. You have. You wanted to find out what was going on in that house, and you have. You wanted to find the answers to this little mystery being played out, and you have. You wanted to know who killed Robin Brown and why, and now you do. If you want to prove the existence of ghosts, I think you've gone a long way toward that too. Whatever it is you were seeking to do, lover, you did it. You shouldn't be having such a hard time with this. You said you were open to ghosts if you had irrefutable evidence. I think you've got it. You're hoping that someone smarter than you will find something different, or hoping that some really obvious natural explanation is going to present itself to help you get a natural, normal, logical explanation out of this -- that's foolish. I think you have the proof you were looking for that there is another plane of existence you don't understand. And now that you have it, you don't seem to want it."

"Yeah, dude, you ... aw, screw it. Why even try after THAT?"

JD couldn't say anything. He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Don't feel bashed, baby. I knew if you ever ran into something like this, it would be really, really hard for you. You've had easy ones up to now, lover. You're too smart for the easy ones. But this? This is the genuine article, JD. You talked to a lady, who helped you in a public building in broad daylight, that's been dead for nearly two weeks. There's no explanation for that. Benjamin Whosit isn't going to be able to come up with anything for that. All he'd say is that you either imagined it or that you're lying. If he'd seen it himself he'd feel differently, I'm sure, but it was you and Dilly. He'd say that was suggestion."

"But ... Dillon spoke to her independently of me."

"I found her in the hallway by the 'puters. She didn't say nuthin' t'me though, 'cept askin' if I needed help. When I asked for you, she pointed to the room."

"But you spoke to her."

"Yeah. She just pointed an' kept goin'. Guess she didn't like me as much."

"You must have spoken to her again when you asked for the microfiche tapes, right?"

"Yep."

"What'd she say then?"

"Nothin'. I said, 'my nerdy friend wants me t'get the microwave tapes from ya,' and she jus' sorta smiled an' handed 'em to me. She never said nothin'."

"That's just weird. It's like they're going out of their way to interact with you."

"Robin Brown interacted with both of you too, Wen -- not just me."

"True. But you're running into them face to face much more than I am."

"That's so true, dude. You're like, a ghost-magnet or somethin'."

JD shook his head.

"So now what do you want to do?" Wendy held his hand between hers and pressed it to her chest. "How do you want to handle this?"

JD sighed again. "I ... well, I don't know. Let's get something to eat and we can talk about ... I don't what the hell we can talk about. Something else. I'm out of ideas on this case."

She giggled. "We'll see how the conversation goes. I know you. You're not going to NOT talk about the case."

"I'm all in fer eatin', though. I heard that part."

JD sighed deeply and they started down the stairs to the car. "Okay, let's get Dillon something to eat. Then we'll ... I don't know. Look at the tapes at the house, I guess. Kill some time before it starts again."

"Dude, how y'know it's gonna start again?"

"I don't."

"So ... why we going back to the house?"

"Because, if it does start, we might learn more about what's going on. This time I'm going to follow the person inside. There are so many questions I have. I don't know if ..."

They looked at him. "What?" Wendy asked, noticing his face.

"You know, I want to find something out. Here," he unlocked the car doors for them. "Go ahead. I'll only be a minute."

"Where you goin', dude? I thought we was gonna eat!"

"We are, we are ... I just want to ask that librarian a question."

He bounded up the stairs, leaving Dillon and Wendy shrugging and getting into the car. They fastened their seatbelts, and waited. People continued to trickle in and out of the busy little library, as the sky became increasingly overcast. A gray slate of heavy clouds rolled under the higher, wispy mare's tails, and soon the light was diffused into a soft, shadowless tone of year's end.

A few seconds later, JD came trotting down the stairs of the library.

He dropped heavily into the car and closed the door behind him, staring at the steering wheel.

Dillon sighed. "You gonna say somethin' or we supposeta guess, Milk Dud?"

"Well. It occurred to me that we really didn't have a common thread for this entire -- thing. It was all being laid out for us, but I didn't really see a ... a cohesiveness to it. I was seeing things from Brown's perspective, from someone I assumed was Darren Jenkins, then this whole Migo/Stanton thing ... it was a jumble."

Dillon yawned hugely. "What'd you ask, JD?" Wendy said.

"I asked the librarian what Bea's last name was. I was just curious, and wondered what ... well, basically, what she had to do with all this. Her maiden name? It was Jenkins."

"Oh my God."

"Holy maiden name, Batman," Dillon said, stretching. "She Jenky's chick?"

JD shook his head. "I don't think so, because when I asked if I could look her up to send her family flowers -- because she'd been so helpful to me when I last saw her -- the librarian said that, for the last several months, she'd been living with her children down state. I would have to look up the last name Migo to find her."

Wendy gasped. JD nodded. Dillon looked blank.

"That, my dearest Dillon, means that she married Migo. One of the men that murdered Robin Brown."

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Ready to go on to Part 33?